


firefight

by sqidervbck



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Batfamily, Batfamily Feels, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Molestation, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Tim Drake, Songfic, Synesthesia, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, and now everyone else, and tim knows it, basically gotham elite sucks, i stg i love him okay, janet and jack drake's a+ parenting, song: Drowning (Eden), the batfamily is concerned, tim has been through some bullshit, tim has synesthesia, tim is high on pain meds and he spills his secrets, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-09 22:25:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19895332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqidervbck/pseuds/sqidervbck
Summary: Tim gets a bit tipsy on pain meds and ends up confessing some things he'd kept secret since he was a little kid.... mother-henning ensues.





	1. think i lost my mind a while ago

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: please read the tags
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: i recently updated the first chapter because i was super inspired to write tim with synesthesia and thought it would fit this story perfectly. synesthesia is basically a condition where one sense (in this case sound) results in the involuntary stimulation of another experience (taste, touch, colour, smell). in this story it is obviously exaggerated for literary purposes, but tim relates certain sounds (especially voices) with colour, taste, feeling and texture.
> 
> chapter names are lyrics from drowning by eden ( a great song, check it out )

Jason pushed back on Tim’s shoulder, pressing him back down into the cot. “Come on, babybird, ya’ gotta lay down. Ya’ had one hell of a beat up, there.”

Tim snorted like it was the stupidest thing he’d heard Jason say that week. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

Dick sighed, lowering into the chair beside the Tim’s cot. It had been a close one, that was for sure. Obviously with Tim’s lack of self-preservation and incapability to treat his health with as high importance as he should, ‘a close one’ is not how the third Robin would put it. Especially with how high he is on pain meds.

Jason hummed in response to Tim’s words. Tim, obviously, took this as a sign to continue. 

“Like- like that time with Ra’s… well, more like those twenty times with Ra’s but it’s not like anyone’s counting anymore. Or- oh! The council of spiders… when that annoying guy stabbed me. That was such an inconvenience. And then I woke up by one of Ra’s’ pits, thinking I had died and he had dumped me in for extra fun.”

Jason and Dick met eyes for a second before looking away. Alfred chose this time to lift Tim up and start treating the long gash that hugged the boy’s side. The boy sat up, leaning forward with his legs dangling over either side of the cot.

“Well, Master Timothy, that sounds like quite the—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… There was also that time with the drones,” Tim interrupted. “Hehe, and I beat the whole feet of drones which only had one mission. Because— because I had reprogrammed them… to kill me. Guess I was too smart for my own good, huh.” He snorted, but everyone else just winced. “Everyone thought I was dead. But actually! I was just trapped in an inescapable prison… with myself. That was pretty shitty.”

There was a pregnant pause as everyone listened. Sure, it was pretty selfish to use Tim’s current high-as-fuck condition to get information on him but he never talked to them anymore. And they weren’t exactly forcing him to continue.

“Heh, not as shitty as when my dad beat me up and locked me in a closet.”

Now that made everyone stop and just process for a second. The typing from where Bruce sat at the Batcomputer stopped suddenly. Alfred paused mid way through his sixth stitch on Tim’s side. Cass and Damian stopped their sparring on the mats. It was silent. One. Two. Three. Four.

Tim suddenly gasped melodramatically, placing his hand over his mouth. “Whoopsie. I was not supposed to tell you that, heh. How much medication am on right now?”

“Wait, Tim—”

But the boy just shushed him, using his lent-forward position to place his finger on Jason’s lips. “Shhh. Jason, don’t speak. You’ll spill all your secrets.”

Jason wrapped his hand around Tim’s, pulling it down as his eyes remained on the younger boy’s face. This apparently gave something for Tim to pay attention to, because he started playing with his older brother’s fingers.

“Your hands are all rough and wrinkly,” Tim accused with a look of disgust. “Look— my hands aren’t like that.”

“They’re callouses—”

“Tim,” Dick cut Jason off firmly. “Your dad did what?”

The third Robin didn’t even look at him as he continued to bend and pull at Jason’s long fingers. “Locked me in a closet. It was the first time he had hit me, and the last. Can’t say the same about the closet…” Tim trailed off.

“Why? Why would he… hit you? I thought you said you okay at home. You told Bruce and I you were fine not staying at the Manor.” Dick looked pained, guilt’s hands already stretching their fingers around his throat and mouth. His voice was a pale violet. Bubbles in his stomach, but smooth to touch. Warm water and cold tiles, like sitting underneath a shower. A comforting hand on the back of his neck. Strong. Reliable. (Not so reliable after all).

Tim simply snorted. “Of course I told you that. But don’t worry, it was just one time. Because I declined Mr Dentry. They got angry.”

“Declined? What, like you didn’t give him money?” Jason questioned, trying to brush away Tim’s adventurous fingers. He tasted like blood on his tongue. Metallic. Dangerous. Crimson. Sharp like the snap of a whip. Passionate. Emotional. Vivid.

“No, silly. I— it was supposed to be for the deal. It would help with the company. DI was going downhill and mum and dad needed something to rescue it. Just one partnership with Dentry Corporations and Drake Industries would have been saved. They— they just told me to be sensible and do everything he says… that’s all they told me.”

Jason started to get a bad feeling. Like a really bad feeling. And usually when Jason had bad feelings it was because of something very bad. He looked over to Dick who had a (probably) identical look of absolute dread.

“It was after a gala, when I was nine… I remember mum’s nails digging into my shoulder. It was her way of saying ‘be sensible, this is our reputation at stake’.”

_( Pins in his shoulder, biting into the fabric of his button-up. A clawed hand. Red lipstick, dark hair, a firm voice. “Timothy, do not ruin this for us. This partnership is very important, do you understand? Timothy, do you understand?” Sharp blue. Cold. Deceptive. Calculative. Bitter in his mouth. )_

“Mr Dentry took me home to his house. The car ride was awkward. He was too nice. I was too quiet. I knew— I knew something was wrong.”

_( Brown eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. Tim’s averted gaze. His heart in his throat. Sweaty palms. Sharp breaths. “So, son, what do you like doing? Football? Basketball? Some tennis? Haha. Or are you more of an indoor type? I think I could get you some paints or something, yeah son? Haha.” His voice tasted like burnt coal in the back of his mouth. A grey-purple. A sickly bruise. An infection. Coughing plumes of smoke into the back of Tim’s throat when he laughed. )_

“We got to his house, it was small compared to mum and dad’s, much smaller than Wayne Mansion. He took me upstairs, asked if I wanted a bath. I declined politely, like mum had taught me to do. But he insisted. Not wanting to anger him, I agreed.”

_( “Come on, champ, it’s just a bath. You’ll love it. I’ve got bubbles.” Tight lips. Self-inflicted crescents in Tim’s palms. )_

“So he took me to the bathroom, watched me get undressed. Then when I got in the bath he started— bathing me. I— he— I wanted him to stop but I didn’t say anything. I— maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he didn’t know that I was uncomfortable. Maybe he thought I… liked it.”

_( “Ya’ like that, Timmy? Let’s get you nice and clean.” A gotham accent, not as proper as it was at the gala. Lavender scented soap. Suffocating steam. Bubbles in the water. Tim used them to cover himself. )_

“I told him I could clean myself, but he kept touching me. His hand only ever went down to my hips. I thought it was because he wasn’t that creepy. Turns out he was just saving it for later.”

_( “I— I can do it myself, sir, it’s okay.” A wide, fat hand. It fit across the whole span of his pale back. Calloused fingers down his spine. Thumbs in the dips of his hips. Hot water. Tim had shivered the whole time. )_

Dick released a strangled choke from his chair, both hands covering his mouth and nose as he looked down at the floor. Jason couldn’t take his eyes off his younger brother. Even Alfred listened, sorry written across his face.

“When we finished, he waited a while before giving me the towel. He had put it on the floor so I would either have to bend down and pick it up or wait for him to get it. I didn’t dare pick it up myself.”

_( Tim hugged himself. “You know me, Timmy, there’s no need to hide. Haha.” Shivering knees. A white towel. Too rough for Tim’s soft skin. Small, too. )_

“When we left the bathroom I thought he was going to give me my clothes back, maybe some new ones if I was lucky. But he just looked at me. Told me to get onto the bed. I didn’t want to. He told me again… I could hear it in the voice. Mum used it all the time when she was impatient and on the verge of shouting. I was weak to that voice. So I did as he said.”

_( “Come on, son, get on the bed. Just get on the bed, son.” Wide eyes. Scared. Shaking heart. Closed throat. Toothpicks for legs. Quivering hands. Desperately clutching onto the towel. )_

“I sat on the bed and he leaned over me. I was frozen. I told myself to move but— but I couldn’t. I was just nine, it wasn’t like I had learnt to think quickly in these situations. I remember his hands. Big and rough. He reached for the towel, pulled it off my shoulders. It fell on the bed by my thighs.”

_( Cold air. The shadow of Mr Dentry. His big hand, could fit around the back of Tim’s whole head. )_

“So I just screamed. As loud as I could, I shouted and thrashed, trying to get away from him. From his shadow. I kicked, scratched.”

_( Blood under his nails, raw throat, bruised feet. “Let go of me, let go!” )_

“Somehow I got out of his grip and ran out of the room. I may have been weak but I was small and quick. That was all I needed to hide in the fireplace. It was one of the old ones with the steel doors and I was tiny so I could crouch in there. I could hear him walking around the house… trying to find me. Calling me Timmy and son and champ. Saying that he only wanted to make me feel good. Saying that he’d call up my parents and they would be very disappointed in me.”

_( Coal under his bare feet. Cold skin. Only a towel to cover himself. Shoulders scratched against rough metal. Shallow breaths. Shivering. “Hey, Timmy, come on out. There’s no need to hide, little boy. All I want is for you to feel good. I can make you feel good, son, I promise.” )_

“I stayed there for about two hours before he gave up and called my parents. When they came I got out and ran to them, expecting them to apologise and hug me and tell me everything was fine. Instead they were just disappointed. They looked angry. They said sorry to Mr Dentry. He said the partnership was off. I was too much, too difficult. So when we got back home mum shouted at me and then dad hit me. He punched me a few times, kicked me in the ribs and then shoved me into the closet. He locked me in for two days. I didn’t sleep at all because there were bugs and at that age I was terrified of them crawling into my ears and nose and mouth while I was asleep.”

_( Bruises. Purple and blue watercolour on a pale canvas. Stinging skin. Bugs in the wood. Buzzing from flies. Bugs on his hands. Bzzzz. Tears on his cheeks. Cold feet. Bzzzz. Blue lips. Flies on his lips. Bzzzz. )_

“It was just… constant buzzing for two whole days. From the flies. In the morning of the second day the maid found me. I told her I was playing hide and seek. She told me that mum and dad had gone on another trip to Malaysia and were going to be away for three months. After the trip they didn’t talk to me… barely even went in the same room. I guess Mr Dentry was right; they were disappointed.”

All that was left was silence.

Tim felt cold. It felt as though the meds’ effects had been released. As had his secret. Everyone was looking at him. He had the sudden urge to roll onto his side and wrap himself in a warm blanket. Away from judging eyes. Maybe they were disappointed too.

“You know what he did was wrong, right?” Jason questioned after a few more seconds of silence. The streak of red was violent, invasive. Livid. He looked angry, his eyes clouded with green. Tim almost flinched at the nostalgia of that expression aimed towards him.

_( A cold rooftop. The barrel of a gun at his temple. The blade of a knife against the pale of his throat. Streams of red. Skyline covered with the crimson of his voice. Stinging palms. Rain in his eyes. Or was it blood? )_

Tim contemplated the question with furrowed brows. “Well — well they did it for the company, right? People do whatever it takes for the things they love—”

“The things they love? The things they love?” Jason’s eyes grew darker with every word, Tim inching backwards as his older brother stood. “Tim, the thing they love should be you, their son. It doesn’t — their company shouldn’t fucking matter if it means that their son is in danger. Don’t you — don’t you know that?”

Alfred stepped in. “Master Jason, maybe we should consider discussing this after Master Tim has received treatment and some rest.” Voice of butter. Smooth, yet firm. The rim of pale yellow around a white-burnt sun.

Tim ignored Alfred, looking up with wide blue eyes. Smart eyes, bright eyes, seeing eyes, Jason thought, but so, so blind. “I— I don’t know—”

“You don’t know? Tim, we deal with abusive parents, fucking pedophiles, all the goddamn time and you’re telling me you don’t consider your parents abusive? You think what that monster did to you was justifiable?” Jason exclaimed incredulously.

The third Robin — the neglected Robin — blinked owlishly. “I—”

“You what?” Jason interrupted. “You what, Tim? Tell me; do you think what that man did to you was okay?”

Red. Red everywhere.

Tim couldn’t answer that. It wasn’t right — it really wasn’t — but it was for the company. His parents had every right to do it. “It—” He breathed. “No. It wasn’t okay but my parents were doing what they thought would save the company, so it’s fine. Really, it’s fine, I’m over it. I— I was just a kid, I barely even remember—”

“Well from the full on fucking documentary you just gave us—!”

“I was almost fucking raped, Jason!” Tim snapped back. ale blue if you’re familiar with it. Tim hated the colour. It reminded him of hospitals. Clinical. White tiles washed with white light. Blue undertones. Jason flinched at the unexpected shout. “I was molested and I don’t know about you, but as a nine-year-old that’s pretty fucking scary. My— my parents sold me off to some creep for the night so they could live with their billion dollar company and I could live with the shadows of some 60 year old’s hands on me.” He took a breath. In… out… in… out. “My parents were shit, I know, but it’s all I have known. When you raise a kid and tell him that he’s a disappointment and useless, he learns to believe it. When you tell him he’s not good enough, he tries to be better. When you tell him he’ll never do anything good, he does everything in his power to help others. Even if that means becoming Robin, even it that means getting himself killed. It’s just— it’s what I was taught, it’s what I’ll always believe. I know it’s bad, I know my parents should have gone to jail long before they died, but I didn’t know any better.”

He breathed again. In… out… in… out. His eyes were wet. There were thin crescents in his palms from where we had dug his nails in. Shards of glass covering his eyes. White.

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick breathed out, rushing forward to wrap his arms around his little brother. Dick was going to kill the Dentry fucker later, but right now Tim was crying and in desperate need of comfort. The babybird melted into his embrace, burrowing his head into his older brother’s collarbone.

“A— after that whole thing with Ra’s and I… fell out a window, I was tracking down a lead on the Assassination Tournament. After finding a secret lair, I stumbled into Ra’s daughter, Nyssa Al Ghul. Apparently Ra’s decided that I was worthy enough to… help create an heir. She tried to… force me into having sex but Cass quickly came. It wasn’t — I didn’t doubt Cass to get there on time, it just… reminded me. The fear. The vulnerability. It feels like shit. If Cass hadn’t made it then… heh, I guess we’ll have had to deal with another Wayne-Al Ghul, huh?”

Nobody laughed. 

Damian looked to his father hesitantly, almost guiltily. It was a rare expression for the young boy.

“And Dentry?”

It was the first words Bruce had said since Tim had started rambling. Red didn’t know if he wanted him to comfort him or not say anything at all.

“Blackgate,” Tim replied easily. “Arrested for first and third degree rape, sexual assult of a minor and production of child pornography. It — I wasn’t one of the victims he was charged for. There were more. Lots more. Gotham Elite keeps it all hush hush but between them, everyone knows what happens.”

“That’s fucking messed up,” Jason growled out, running his fingers through his hair. “He should be dead. I should have killed him years ago—”

“Back then you would have never believed a prissy rich kid was sexually assaulted, Jason, and you know it,” Tim scoffed, but it wasn’t as harsh as the words suggested. “You would have told them they were being overdramatic and to stick their silver spoons up their ass.”

Jason looked at him but didn’t say anything.

Tim continued. “That’s the problem with Gotham Elite. Nobody ever talks about it because nobody wants to believe it. Everyone wants to point fingers at the richest until they realise they’ve been abusing their own kids and then everyone shuts up about it. As if they deserve it.”

Dick frowned, playing with the silky hairs on the nape of his little brother’s neck. “You didn’t deserve it, Timmy. Nobody deserves that. Even the worst of the worst don’t deserve that.”

The babybird hummed affirmatively into Dick’s shoulder, nosing at the fabric of his Nightwing suit. He’ll deal with the embarrassment after 10 hours of sleep and three mugs of coffee. Or maybe he just… won’t deal with it.

“‘M tired,” he whined quietly.

Nightwing chuckled, unravelling Tim’s arms to lay him back down in the cot. “Okay, babybird, you get your rest. Imma’ talk to B for a bit, yeah?”

Tim hummed once more before instantly falling asleep. That was about the quickest anyone has ever seen him hit the pillow. Probably because of the meds. And current lack of caffeine.

Dick gave him one last look before turning back to Bruce, his pseudo-father without the cowl or gauntlets. They stared at each other for a moment, that odd Bat-talk that nobody outside the family understood.

“We’re going after this guy, right? Make sure he never lays an ugly hand on anymore kids?” Jason questioned, already grabbing his helmet off the bench.

Bruce hummed lowly. “I’ll need some time to go through legal stuff, see what I can do as Bruce Wayne.”

Jason and Dick looked at each other, waiting for the command to go.

The Batman looked to both his sons, a small but rare smirk on his face. “Give ‘im hell.”


	2. i'd be lying if i said i was fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tim is confronted. he doesn't exactly appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE RE-READ THE FIRST CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY! I ADDED A PRETTY SIGNIFICANT FEATURE AND THAT IS THAT TIM HAS SYNESTHESIA. SO IF YOU DON'T READ THOSE BITS IN THE FIRST CHAPTER UR PROBABLY GONNA BE REALLY CONFUSED ABOUT WHY HES SEEING RANDOM PURPLE BUBBLES WHEN HES TALKING TO DICK.
> 
> other than that, enjoy (:

Tim’s had migraines in his life. Many of them. They’re basically second nature when it comes to the vigilante life. However the ache in his head when he woke that morning (afternoon) was one hell of a pain in the ass. There was a constant pounding on the back of his skull, like someone was going crazy with a hammer on an anvil. After taking a moment to listen for his surroundings (because Bat instincts, duh), the third Robin decided the area was safe enough. His struggled to pull his eyes open, a blurry haze clouding his vision like fog. His stomach wasn’t sitting well, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

His gut lurched with a familiar sensation. Maybe it was more worrying than he thought.

Tim’s instincts pulled him on his side, leaning over the bed to empty the contents of his stomach. The sour tang of bile still stained his mouth as he sat up again and breathed out. In, out, in, out. He grimaced, looking around the room (his room?) for water. On the bedside table was a jug and glass, right next to the framed image of Dick and Tim and the circus. The boys in the picture looked so happy, Tim had to wince. 

_( His cheeks hurt from grinning too much. Warm stomach. Happy. The boy with sparkly eyes. “I’ll do a quadruple somersault just for you, Timmy!” )_

He looked away.

His room was exactly the same as when he left. The Marvel poster right next to the half-ripped, signed David Bowie poster. Superhero stickers (Flash, Green Lantern, Superman, Wonder Woman, Cyborg, anyone but the Bats) littered on the bathroom door. Alfred probably left the Superboy toothbrush as well. 

Tim spat the water into a bucket beside his bed before swinging his legs over and standing up. The nausea was expected, but Tim swayed for a second anyway with the fatigue. Alfred must have dosed him up with the heavy meds last night.

The thought of last night had Tim rearing back in momentary horror. 

_( Words spilled out of his mouth mindlessly. No filter. His secret no longer a secret. “I was almost fucking raped, Jason! I was molested and I don’t know about you, but as a nine-year-old that’s pretty fucking scary!” )_

Oh fuck.

Tim stood there for a moment, the memories of last night slowly catching up and he realised he had to deal with the Bats after telling them what he promised nobody else would know about.

“Tim, you fucking idiot,” he scolded, running his fingers through his hair (too long, greasy, probably a mess). “Can’t hold your tongue for one second, can you?”

He made his way to the bathroom, throwing his clothes (sweats and a Wonder Woman shirt) into a pile. A glance at the mirror confirmed that he looked actually dead. On that note, he stepped into the shower and flicked the knob on. Cold water streamed out of the shower head, making him flinch when it hit his irritated skin. The sound of trickling water was a pale peach in Tim’s eyes. He slowly got used to the sting as the water warmed. Tim couldn’t bring himself to grab the soap. His arms felt heavy, his feet aching even though he had only just woken up. 

Fuck, he was tired. And doomed. Tired and utterly doomed.

The detective sighed with a roll of his neck. Water glued inky hair to the nape of his neck as he leaned his head against the cold tiles. He was drained. Limp. Weak.

Things had been fine.

He hadn’t bumped into the bats during patrol for ages, WE’s economy was booming, he had been spending time with the Titans in San Francisco. He was doing good. And for once he didn’t need Bruce or Dick or Alfed or anyone to help him with that. Then he had to go get himself thrown into Gotham Bay half-unconscious while the bats were around. Fucking bats.

The shower finished pretty quickly after that. Tim grabbed a new pair of sweats and Flash hoodie that was three sizes too big. With the hoodie already over his head, the boy halted suddenly. In the mirror, his eyes caught sight of the ugly scar over his left hip bone. The lines were deep, now covered with thick, white skin tissue, tracing the symbol of a bat. It was fairly large, wrapping slightly around his side.

He stared blankly at it for a moment. 

_( Knife dragging through skin. Blossoming pain. Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream. “This, Detective, will make sure you never forget that you are nothing without him. You are his pawn in the game of war, set forth as a sacrifice to protect the king. You’ll never be anything more than that, Timothy. Never.” )_

Tim flinched out of the memory, swallowing thickly. He averted his gaze, pulling the hoodie down.

He made his way out of the bedroom, heading down the hallway with one mission. Get out without the bats catching him. And honestly, he did pretty well. He had made it to the main living area at the bottom of the stairs when he was caught.

“Tim!” Dick exclaimed in surprise, a bowl of Fruit Loops in one hand. Bubbles of pale, pale violet bloomed across Red’s vision. Tim’s heart dropped inside. Fucking bats. “What are you doing up? You should still be in bed.”

The third Robin pulled on a smile, digging his hands into the hoodie’s pocket with a shrug. The pocket hid the way his hands fisted up, nails slowly biting open the crests he had dug yesterday. “Yeah well, you know me, always on the move.”

He faked a chuckle. Dick smiled back, before it faltered. Tim held his breath.

“Look, last night—” Dick started.

“Was nothing,” Tim cut him off quickly. “I was rambling. You know I don’t do too well with high doses. I didn’t know what I was saying, honestly.”

Nightwing stared at him for a second, a small frown pulling at his lips. “Timmy, you don’t have to lie to me, you know? You can talk to me. I know we haven’t been too close recently, with you moved out. But Jason’s staying at the Manor, so maybe you can move back in too! Little brother, I—”

“You don’t get to call me that.”

Tim’s voice was harsh. A silver blade cutting through Dick’s attempts of a reunion. Shards of white-blue glass. The youngest Wayne didn’t falter with his glare, eyes of stone piercing through Nightwing in a way that made him shiver. A boy so young shouldn’t look so cold.

“Tim—”

“No. Just don’t.” Tim shook his head. “I’m leaving. I’ve got stuff to do. A business to run. A team to run. Just— just forget about last night, I was telling the truth when I said I had forgotten about it.”

Dick didn’t even try to stop him when he walked out the door.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Later that night, Nightwing interrupted Red Robin’s patrol.

“Look, Nightwing, I’m not exactly in the mood right now,” Red sighed, slowing to a stop as he stared down the blue and black vigilante. 

Nightwing stepped closer. “We need to talk about last night.”

Tim didn’t let his annoyance show, just stared blankly through the whiteouts. “We really don’t,” he insisted. He readied his grapple hook, preparing to flee and leave Nightwing behind.

“You’ve never been one to run away from things, Red, so why are you trying to ignore this?”

Red stopped. Breathed. Rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness they earned when Nightwing had landed on the rooftop. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

He could see the flinch that flickered across N’s face, an obvious tell of how the comment had made an impact.

“I can see something’s hurting you, Tim—”

“No names in the field,” Tim interrupted. “And as I stated earlier, I’m fine.”

Nightwing shook his head as he sauntered closer. “You know that line’s not gonna work on me anymore. Not after what you pulled last night.”

“I didn’t pull anything, Nightwing. I was high on meds, went off about something that I didn’t even remember correctly.” (That was a lie. Tim has a photographic memory. He is constantly reminded that it is both a blessing and a curse.) “I was rambling at that point. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not going to not worry when you explicitly recalled your experience of sexual assault to the whole family!” Dick exclaimed. The pale violet of his voice turned a harsh magenta. Loud. Demanding.

Tim scowled at the idea of ‘family’. Is that really what they were? Family? “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t— wasn’t an issue.”

He internally bashed himself for the stutter. It was a physical sign of weakness that Dick could easily misinterpret as breaking down.

Nightwing frowned, stepping closer once again. “It is an issue. You need— you need to acknowledge it before you face it. Please let me — us — help, Red.”

“N, I’m not one to talk about my emotions, please don’t make me,” Tim spoke, intentionally adding a slight whine to his voice to make the other vigilante think he was pleading. “I-I really don’t want to talk about it.”

That stutter wasn’t real of course, but N would easily fall for it. Tim knew it. The eldest Robin was weak to a brother in need, so all Tim needed to do was make Dick feel like he was helping by leaving him alone. Then he could go back to patrol.

Nightwing’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyebrows dipping in concern. The bubbles of purple were fading against the skyline. There was a pause as TIm waited for the cue to go. Make the other man feel in control of the situation. 

“Okay, Red, I won’t push. Just- just if you need to talk to anyone, I’m here. Yeah?”

Tim hid the satisfied smirk behind a shy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks N.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

Tim wasn’t really surprised when he came through the door two days later to see Jason Todd baking in his kitchen. Well, the baking was a surprise, but that was mainly because he hadn’t been in the manor at the same time as Jason for more than a day. He didn’t know Jason very well. He didn’t know his habits, or his cues or his personality outside of the mask. It meant he had a disadvantage.

It made Tim itch.

Knowledge was power in Timothy Drake’s opinion. Or, knowledge was an advantage. When he didn’t possess information on a person, it made him feel weak. Like he was at a loss. He didn’t know how to manipulate himself around a situation. His mother would be ashamed.

“Jason.” Tim nodded to the older man as he entered his apartment, dropping his bag to the floor. The air hung with the scent of chocolate chip cookies, shocking Tim with a sense of nostalgia.

_( Sitting on the kitchen bench. Dangling legs. Wide smile. Loud words. Large hand gestures. “Alfred, you should have seen how big it was! It was much harder than fighting Killer Croc, I’m sure about that much!” Offered chocolate chip cookies. Soft acknowledgement. A warm smile. )_

Tim blinked himself out of the memory, looking back to Jason to advert his attention. “What are you doing here?” he questioned lightly.

“Is it such a crime to check up on my baby brother?” Jason smiled back with a slight smirk. The crimson held raspberry undertones. Teasing. Bright. 

Tim held back a grimace at the words ‘baby brother’. He pulled off the suit jacket, resting it across the back of one of the dining table seats. “Depends what the occasion is.”

Jason snorted. “Don’t sound so sceptical, Timbo. I’m baking cookies, you should be happy.”

“I’m on a diet.” The response was short, clipped. Efficient. No more than necessary. A crisp white.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Jason answered easily. Tim could hear the stern tone, a shade less saturated than his vivid crimson. More serious.

The younger vigilante settled into a stool at the kitchen island, the one with the retractable bo hidden underneath. “Well being unfit isn’t too fun either. A sugar crash won’t do too well on patrol.” Tim raised a perfect, dark brow. 

Jason clicked his tongue with a sigh. He probably got it from Damian (jealousy reared its ugly head at the conclusion that it meant Jason was spending a lot of time around the bat brat). He settled down the bowl (the third batch it seemed; stress baking, probably) and turned around, leaning back against the kitchen bench. “Por dios, you’re hopeless. Look, babybird, it’s calling trying to be nice.”

“Sorry, I’m not too familiar with the term nice coming from Jason Todd’s mouth. It’s— it’s catching up, just wait.” Tim paused, raising his finger in mock concentration. “Okay, yep, I’ve processed it. Sorry, it was a bit of a hard one to swallow.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re just as bad as the brat, you know that right?”

“Why thank you, I take much honour in knowing I’ve beat him at something.”

And that made Jason frown. Tim internally rolled his eyes. Another deep-convo-that’s-mainly-one-sided with the bats. Tim’s favourite.

“Tim, you’re not… you don’t still believe what the demon says, do you? Cause look, he says that shit to everyone. Don’t worry about him hating just you,” Jason said, deep and concerned.

It made Tim gag. It made him want to scream. To throw something. Maybe throw up a bit because he can’t be that oblivious, can he? Last time Tim checked, Damian wasn’t telling the others to kill themselves because they’re just stand-ins who are wasting space.

_( He held his breath. Bit his tongue. There was metal in his mouth. “Drake, I thought you knew already, nobody wants you here. Why do you think Grayson gave me Robin? He was so desperate to give it away, because you were such a horrible stand-in. Next time you jump off a building, do us a favour and leave your grapple-hook at home.” Green. Olive green. It was pulsating around him. Lashing out. Sharp and meant to hurt. The undertones of silver. Of metal. Words like blades. It made his chest hurt. The metallic sting that Damian’s voice left. Or was it the blood? )_

“It was just… he was just a kid. He’s changed, Tim. He really has.”

And now Tim really wanted to vomit. His heart pounded in his chest. Words and letters and essays built up in his throat about how that wasn’t the problem. Their ignorance was what made Tim sick. Made him physically ill. How could somebody be so oblivious. So dishonest to themself.

But Tim choked down the words, the shouting. Breathed down the white-blue that would turn grey, turn dark. “I know, Jason. I’ve forgiven Damian. I’ve forgiven you, too.” The smile that Jason gave him caused bile to rise in his throat. He swallowed it down like a bitter pill. “I know there were variables that were out of everyone’s control. I was just the easy target. I understand, now.”

“Tim, I know you’ve gone through shit. We all have, it’s part of being a bat. I just… you need to talk about it. If not me, then Dick or Bruce or Alfred or Cass. Cass is a great listener. Come back to the manor. Please.” Jason’s eyebrows dropped in genuine concern.

The plead doesn’t even sound like it’s for Tim. It sounds like he’s asking for his own sake.

Red Robin wanted to punch him. Slap him. Do something. It was like not being able to crack his knuckles. Just needing to satisfy himself but not being able to move his hands. His fingers itch. Jason will never understand. Tim thinks he should. Jason should understand. He should know the struggle of putting on this facade. Of hiding everything. Of holding your own breath because you don’t trust you can control yourself next time. Needing that satisfaction. But it being just out of reach.

He wants to gnash. To grind his teeth. To gnaw and squeeze his jaw until it hurts. Crush his molars into each other until they crack. Instead he bites on the tip of his tongue, tasting the metallic blood that spreads around his mouth. He learnt to only bite the tip after he almost cut through his tongue. The scar is still strangely smooth.

“I’ve already talked to Dick. I bumped into him before leaving the manor.” Tim said it as if he did it on purpose. As if he wanted it. “We talked about the… issue. It’s okay. It helped— talking about it. I don’t know if I can go through it again but… I told Dick about some things I haven’t really told anyone. Things I needed to say. Don’t ask him to tell you. Please. I’ll tell you when I’m ready. I just… I want it to be me who tells you, okay?”

Red is thanking the father, son and holy spirit for all the things his mother told him about manipulation. When he was younger, he hated it. Putting on the new facade. He still does. He still denies all the manipulation that his mother did on him. But it was at times like this when he was somewhat grateful. 

There was a pause as Jason processed the information. All Tim could think about was how similar this was to his conversation with Dick. How easy it was to evade them.

“Okay, babybird, I’ll wait,” Jason nodded, and Tim released the bite he had on his tongue. “But you have to tell me soon, or I’m asking Dick. Got it?”

He winced internally, but forced a smile to show for Jason. “Thanks, Jay.”

All Tim could think about was the crimson ribbon winding around his apartment. About the bubbles of purple fading against the skyline on the Gotham rooftop. Alfred’s butter smooth waves while he was being stitched up. He had almost forgotten what their voices sounded (looked, tasted, felt) like.


End file.
